These Last Four Years
by Asteria
Summary: How it happened.
1. The Problem

These Last Four Years

By Asteria

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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What the _hell_ was he supposed to do now?

It was almost midnight when he pulled up outside the Bennet house, turned off the car, removed his glasses (he hated the damn things, but the last time he'd tried driving without them at night he'd run over a cactus,) and began to bang his forehead against the top of the steering wheel.

The next logical step would be to get out of the car, go to the door, and try to explain, but he couldn't just leave Noah in the car, not like this. Hell, he was lucky he hadn't been pulled over, because he would have been arrested and God only knows what would have happened to Noah.

Anyway, current situation aside, he was _not_ going to get anything like a warm welcome. He'd be lucky if whoever answered the door slammed it in his face. Claire or Sandra would probably try to kill him on sight (it wouldn't work, but it _would_ hurt like hell.)

He could _bring_ Noah… no. That would never work. You couldn't just spring something like this on people; it had been almost an hour since the incident and _he_ still couldn't quite believe it.

But he couldn't just leave Noah in the car! What if he woke up?

He looked over at the house. The only light from within was the bluish glow of a TV, so someone was awake, but probably not everyone. Good. Maybe it was the boy (what was his name? Kyle? Myles?) The boy was harmless. The only problem was that the boy was also useless.

He sighed and was about to resume banging his head on the steering wheel when something caught his eye.

Noah's cell phone.

It was sitting in the drivers side cupholder, where it had been since before they got into this mess, and he could swear it was looking at him like he was an idiot.

He could _call_ them.

He could call the Bennets and tell whoever answered that Noah needed their help, but not give any details and not say where he was until they promised to give him the chance to explain what had happened.

Yeah. That could work. It was a good plan (any plan that didn't involve him actually going to the door was a good plan.)

He opened the phone, found "home" easily enough in the list of contacts, and hit "dial."

*ring*

…

*ring*

…

*ring*

…

*ri--* "Hello?"

Claire. Dammit.

"Claire, your father needs your help."

A pause, then, suspiciously,

"Who is this?"

"Gabriel."

"Who?"

He rolled his eyes, even though he knew she couldn't see him.

"Sylar."

*click*

He really should have seen that coming.

Maybe he was going about this all wrong. Maybe he should find a hotel, get some sleep, and then come back and tell them in the morning. If he brought donuts they might agree to hear him out before they started throwing heavy things at his head.

No, because lights had started going on in the house, which meant that Claire had told Sandra, who was going to come out here and try to kill him (did Noah have a gun besides the one currently in the glove compartment? Probably. He _was_ from Texas.)

The door of the house opened and four people- Claire, the boy, Sandra, and another woman- stepped out and headed straight for him.

He sat up, adjusted his tie, and, after a moment's consideration, put his glasses back on, in case he needed to make a quick getaway.

They approached the car, Claire in the lead, Sandra with one arm protectively around the boy, and the other woman bringing up the rear, holding… was that a handful of fire? (Now wouldn't that be useful… No. Focus, man. This situation is bad enough.)

Claire glared at him through the window.

"What have you done with my father?"

Without meaning to, he glanced at the passenger seat.

The four outside followed his gaze. Curled up on the seat was a blond-haired baby, about a year old, wrapped in a suit jacket, fast asleep and contentedly sucking on his own toes.

They stared at the child, at Noah, for several very long seconds.

He cleared his throat, and they looked at him again, wearing identical expressions of angry skepticism.

"I can explain."

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Notes: I wrote this almost immediately after "I Am Become Death," and have only just gotten around to typing it up. My original plan was to start posting it only after I had most of the story written out, but that situation is looking less and less likely, so I'm posting this, and maybe someday I can wrestle the second and subsequent chapters into something resembling coherency. But, for now, this is what it is. I leave the explanations up to you.


	2. The Story

These Last Four Years

By Asteria

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

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Her name- the name on her file, the name she used- was Zoe Phillips. She had been placed in Level 5 not because she was particularly dangerous, but because she had managed to escape from Levels 1 through 4. She had come to the attention of the Company in 1987 when she had, according to the records, stormed into their main facility and tried to shut them down for no adequately documented reason. She'd had twenty years of incarceration to stew in her resentment. And now she was out (thanks, Elle.)

The biggest problem with Zoe Phillips was that no one knew for certain what her ability was. She had one, but refused to demonstrate, or even describe it. The Company had tried to cajole, trick, goad, even torture her into revealing her ability, and still she had refused. She had said that they were not worthy of a demonstration. Zoe Phillips was dangerous because she was an unknown. Only the highest of the higher-ups had ever spoken with her.

All that was about to change.

She wasn't even trying to hide. She was standing on the beach, her feet in the surf, staring out over the water. Noah drove the car onto the sand (Gabriel could feel the car protesting this treatment), which she had to have heard, but she didn't even acknowledge their presence until they had gotten out of the car and approached her on foot.

"The world is so full now," she said, still facing away from them. "I remember when a person could go for years at a time without seeing any but their own kin. Now, you see more people in a day than you used to in a lifetime. I'd almost forgotten."

She turned around. She looked almost exactly like the photo in her file- a silver-haired woman with dark, clear eyes and no ethnicity you could put your finger on. She seemed to be about sixty.

"I don't know you," she said, squinting to see them in the glare of headlights and moonlight, "either of you. You're not important. Why would they send two such minor functionaries after someone like me? But then, they've never really understood how much more than them I truly am."

Noah shot Gabriel a look, almost daring the younger man to attack, and possibly be killed in the process. Gabriel held his position.

Noah drew his gun and leveled it at Zoe.

"Will you come peacefully or will I have to use force?"

" 'Come peacefully?'" She gave a derisive laugh. "After twenty years in captivity, you really think I'm going to 'come peacefully?' You're going to have to use force. But I warn you: your superiors will not be pleased if you injure or kill me. So, by all means, try your best."

Noah set the gun on the hood of the car, took one slow step forward, then charged, intending to tackle her. Zoe stepped aside, and Noah stumbled forward, off balance, and landed on his hands and knees in the surf. Gabriel started toward them, but Zoe grabbed Noah's face in both hands, and Noah started to scream, a sustained howl of surprise and pain that increased in pitch as… was he _shrinking_?

Gabriel stumbled forward across the sand as Noah continued to scream, and, yes, shrink, in Zoe's grasp. After what felt like an eternity, but was probably closer to twenty seconds, Zoe released Noah, falling backwards. Noah was nowhere to be seen, his suit crumpled into a sodden tangle. Gabriel dropped to his knees and dug through the suit, more curious to see the results of Zoe's ability than concerned for his partner.

Gabriel sat back on his heels, eyes wide, not quite believing what he was seeing. Noah had not just shrunk, he had…

Noah was not there, not quite. Tangled in the suit was a baby- a small, squirming, screaming, blond-haired baby boy. Gabriel reached forward and tentatively picked up the baby, not entirely sure how to hold it-- him. Noah. The baby was Noah. There was no other explanation.

Now what?

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Hey, look at that. I got the second chapter to work out. I have an idea as to where I want to go from here, but, again, it might take a while to get my thoughts in order.


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